


a california january

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 13:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20908292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: Giles and Jenny attend a funeral.





	a california january

**Author's Note:**

> set after ted but before surprise.

As it happened, when Giles got that week’s call, Jenny was with him. It was five in the morning on a Saturday, and so when the phone rang, both of them knew what it was.

“Don’t,” said Jenny in a small voice, as though getting up to get the phone would make the moment more real. “What if it’s one of the kids this time?”

“Please, I—this is hard enough,” said Giles quietly, and kissed her on the cheek. She settled back into the pillows, watching him with tired eyes as he answered the bedside phone. “Hello?”

_“Mr. Giles?”_

Ah. It was Snyder. Not one of _their _children, then: Snyder only called this early about members of the athletics team, or accomplished scholars, or—

_“Ms. Stone’s body was found by her car,” _said Snyder. _“The funeral will be held tomorrow afternoon. As a member of Sunnydale High faculty, it’s your responsibility to attend three faculty member funerals per year, and so far, you have only attended one.”_

Something odd twisted in Giles’s chest. “I wasn’t aware of that policy,” he said.

_“It’s something of a Sunnydale tradition,” _said Snyder.

“What—is he talking about the three-funerals-per-year thing?” said Jenny, rolling onto her side. “Tell him you’ll bring me. If I attend an extra one, you don’t have to attend another one later.”

“Here,” said Giles, handing Jenny the phone without thinking about it. Jenny, more awake than him, sent him a _horrified _expression and shoved the phone back in his direction. “Jenny, _what—_”

_“It is five in the morning,” _said Jenny through her teeth, _“and I am not explaining to Snyder why I am in your house at five in the morning!”_

That was a very good point. Giles took the phone back. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Ah—if I bring Ms. Calendar, am I exempted from the next faculty member’s funeral?”

_“If you’d read the memo about Sunnydale High fatalities, you’d know the answer to that already,” _said Snyder sourly.

“So that’s a—”

_“Yes, Mr. Giles. Though I’d suggest revisiting that memo of mine.”_

“Of course,” said Giles, who had started making a habit of methodically putting Snyder’s memos through the shredder whenever he was feeling particularly vindictive. “I’ll do that straightaway, and I’ll attend the funeral tomorrow. Which cemetery?”

_“The one two blocks from the high school.”_

“Of course.” Giles hung up.

“Which cemetery?” said Jenny.

“The one two blocks from the high school,” said Giles, lying back down to face her.

“Who was it?”

Giles swallowed. “Ms. Stone.”

Jenny drew in a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Without a word, she moved towards Giles, hiding her face in his chest as her shoulders shook. Giles wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. The knot in his chest hadn’t gone away.

_This was supposed to be a lazy Saturday, _he thought. His eyes stung.

* * *

Ms. Violet Stone had been Sunnydale High’s best English teacher. She had stopped by the library every so often to request literary recommendations and a cup of tea, and she and Giles had had quite a few pleasant conversations about underappreciated writers in academia. She had had a ridiculous fashion sense that had gotten her in trouble with Snyder multiple times—nothing indecent, just loud, brightly colored jackets that upset his sensibilities—and that had been enough for Jenny to like her very much. She had been smart enough to know that something wasn’t quite right with Sunnydale, and she had always checked in with teachers staying late to make sure they didn’t stay in school after dark.

There were teachers—and Giles hated that his mind worked like this, but he’d lived in Sunnydale too long not to notice patterns—there were teachers who were clever enough to last in Sunnydale, and there were teachers who weren’t. Up until now, it had only been the less-aware teachers that had disappeared, or turned up dead three days later, or ended up dust on Buffy’s stake. Up until now—

“Is my dress in your wardrobe?” said Jenny.

“Hmm?” Giles turned from the mirror, where he had been debating two different black ties.

“I,” Jenny let out a breath, “I really don’t want to go home right now.”

“Why on earth not?”

Jenny bit her lip. Stepping up to him, she took his hand, holding it unusually tightly. “We’re safe in here,” she said.

There was quite a lot to unpack in that statement. “We do still have to go to the funeral tomorrow,” said Giles unsteadily, looking down at Jenny’s fingers interlaced with his. Shameful of him—a woman had just died—but his heart was pounding at the way she seemed unable to let go of him for even a second.

“Yeah, I know,” said Jenny. “We can do that. But today, I,” she swallowed, “I kinda feel like if I take my eyes off of you for even a second, I’m gonna get another phone call.”

“I appreciate your faith in me,” said Giles, trying to manage a gentle laugh, “but I think I’ll manage to survive the night.”

Jenny let out a sobbing breath, her grip tightening on his hand hard enough to hurt. Giles looked up at her, and—rare was it that he’d seen her as undone as this. The only time the unrestrained panic in her eyes had ever come close to this was directly after Eyghon had left her body. That realization was _more _than enough for him to give up on reason.

“Come here,” he said, and pulled her into his arms as she started to cry. “Shh. Darling. It’s all right.”

In response, Jenny sobbed something entirely incoherent and clearly argumentative.

“It _is,_” said Giles, a little exasperated. “And if it’s Saturday, why do you need a dress? You brought your clothing over in that deceptively small purse of yours—”

Jenny kept crying. Giles gave up. Holding her as close as he possibly could, he sat back down on the bed, tugging her into his lap. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck and sobbed, and he felt every shuddering breath she made, and—god, he felt so _stupidly _unable to help her. He wished he could do more.

After a very long time, she raised her head, resting her forehead against his. Her face was blotchy and red, and she was still taking little hiccupping breaths in. “If—” She swallowed, sniffling, and tried again. “I leave stuff at your place sometimes,” she said. “For emergencies.”

“Of course,” Giles agreed.

“I thought maybe I might have left my emergency funeral dress here.”

“Your _what?” _said Giles.

Jenny drew in another breath. “Well,” she said. “When I first got here, there was a staff funeral literally the day after I’d moved into my place. I hadn’t even unpacked anything at all yet. So I went downtown and bought the first black dress that fit me, because I didn’t want to go rooting through my stuff when I wasn’t even sure I had a black dress to wear in the first place. And a few weeks later I bought a better black dress for funerals, because they happen _so _often, but I still had that emergency one somewhere. I _think _I brought it over with my other clothes last week, I just can’t remember—”

Giles kissed her forehead. “I’ll look for it,” he said.

Jenny’s face crumpled. “You’re so _sweet!”_

Giles had to hold back a laugh. Even in the throes of misery, he couldn’t help but love her. “Just lie back down,” he said, gently shifting her off his lap—or trying to. Jenny’s grip tightened on his shirt. “All right. Jenny, I do have to cross the room—”

“No you don’t.”

_“Jenny,” _said Giles, and he meant to kiss her on the cheek, but she turned her head and wound her arms around his neck. God, he loved her. Loved her so much, so _fiercely—_this prickly, kind, sarcastic, ridiculous woman. “Dear, you wanted your dress,” he tried to say against her mouth, but it really didn’t work.

Jenny pulled back. “I wanted my dress,” she said reluctantly.

“Yes,” said Giles with relief, and managed to pull himself free, crossing to the small wardrobe and opening its doors. Tweed, tweed, floral skirt, tweed, leather jacket (his or Jenny’s, he wasn’t sure), sweater vest—oh! “Um, this one?” he said, pulling out a small, strapless cocktail dress.

“Unless that’s yours,” deadpanned Jenny.

“It is my color,” Giles agreed, and was delighted to receive a genuine grin in response to this. “But—ah, are you sure this is…funeral-appropriate?”

Jenny bit her lip, then pulled herself off of the bed, tugging off her t-shirt and shorts before taking the dress from Giles. Holding it in front of herself in the mirror, she said with some doubt, “I mean, it does go down to my knees, and it’s got a flared-out skirt so it’s not tight—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” said Giles. “It’s January. Your shoulders will get cold.”

Jenny gave him a wryly amused you’re-being-ridiculous look.

“Fine,” said Giles. “Fine! See if I lend you my jacket again.”

“It’s still a _California _January,” Jenny said at the same time, “so it’s not like I’ll _really _be cold—”

“This is what always happens. You never listen to me, and then you give me those _eyes—_”

“I bet I have a black sweater in there somewhere.”

“You do _not,_” said Giles. “I _checked.”_

“Did you check your dresser?”

_“Yes!” _said Giles, who hadn’t.

“You did _not,_” said Jenny, “I was watching you!” She set the dress down on a nearby chair, then skirted Giles to open the dresser herself. Her triumphant smirk gave way as she scanned its contents. “Okay, one, why do all of your shirts look the same? You’re really terrible representation, Rupert. We’re supposed to be a _fashionable _bi power couple.”

“You just don’t appreciate library chic,” said Giles. “And for the record, the stripes are different colors.”

_“Two,” _said Jenny, “I may or may not need a black sweater.”

“You said you didn’t want to go home,” said Giles.

“I said I didn’t want to go to my _apartment,” _said Jenny, looking suddenly up at him with a strange expression on her face. “I don’t think—” She swallowed, looking very purposefully at a point over his shoulder, and said, “I don’t think I’m in any mood to leave home right now.”

“But you’re not _at _home, you’re at _my_—” Abruptly, it hit Giles what Jenny was trying to say. “Oh,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” said Jenny, who was beginning to blush.

“Oh,” said Giles again, forgetting all about funeral dresses and cold January weather. He crossed the room and took Jenny’s hands in his, feeling as though the warmth he felt _must _be radiating out through his smile. “Well. Um.”

“Yeah,” said Jenny again, looking down at their joined hands, then up at him with uncharacteristic nervousness.

Giles tugged one of his hands free from Jenny’s, placing it instead against her face. She closed her eyes, and a small, soft smile flitted across her face, the likes of which he had _never _seen before. And then she opened her eyes again, and when he leaned in to kiss her, it was…different. _Home, _he thought, bracing his hands against her waist as he nudged her backwards, both of them tumbling softly down onto the bed. _Mine. Hers. Ours._

* * *

“My shoulders are cold,” whispered Jenny the next day.

“Oh, _really?” _Giles whispered back, rolling his eyes a little.

“You know what, shut up,” said Jenny, and tugged his arm up so that she could snuggle into his side. There was a slight metallic clatter as their folding chairs collided, and up front, Snyder turned around and gave them both a Look. Giles gave Snyder a Look right back, mouthing _She’s sad. This is a funeral._

_What? _Snyder mouthed back.

_SHE’S SAD, _Giles mouthed again.

Jenny’s eyes flitted between the two of them, and her mouth quivered. Hiding herself in Giles’s side, her shoulders began to shake, and Giles felt very, very lucky that Snyder wasn’t sitting close enough to them to hear Jenny’s muffled laughter. He made a big production of stroking her hair and looking somber.

Apparently satisfied, Snyder turned back to the front, allowing Giles to pull Jenny further into his arms. He could feel her laughter beginning to transition into tears again as the funeral continued. Gently, he tucked his thumb under her chin, tilting her face up so that their eyes met. “Chin up, darling,” he said with a small grin, which made Jenny give him that annoyed/amused smile that he loved so much. “We’re both alive, aren’t we?”

Jenny swallowed, then said, “Don’t you ever make me sit through one of these alone, Rupert.”

God, Giles wanted to be able to promise her that for certain. He wanted to be able to say _never, Jenny. I’ll never leave you. I love you. _But he was a Watcher first and foremost, and he had chosen this life, and—

“_Promise _me,” said Jenny, voice breaking.

“Never, Jenny,” said Giles. “Never. I’ll never leave you.”


End file.
